


Of Magnets, Texts and Notes

by orphan_account



Series: Sherstrade Domesticity [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Letters, Love, M/M, Sweet, Vignette, messages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9564755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When work keeps them busy, both men communicate with a series of Post-It notes, fridge-magnets and texts.





	

Greg’s jaw stretched wide in a yawn as he opened the fridge door and reached inside with his left hand, hoping to immediately collide with the bottle of semi-skimmed milk that was habitually perched in the door. Instead he drew his hand back with the ketchup bottle, dressed in a yellow Post-It note covered in scrawled chicken-scratch handwriting. He smiled, despite it being three-thirty am on Monday morning and his desperate need for a hot, milky coffee now looking like it wouldn’t be met. The note read:

_out of milk, buy some? x_

\------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock turned over and opened his eyes with an immediate frown on his forehead. He was entirely certain that five minutes ago he had been sitting at the dinner table, with a bottle of sulphuric acid, and was about to prove that it was, in fact, the brother and not the father who had been draining the savings account of Nanna Bette. He turned his head to the right, trying to work out what time it was and how the hell he had ended up in bed. He reached for his phone on the dressed to his right and snapped his arm back into the warmth of the bed. He illuminated the screen, ignored the three missed calls from Mycroft, and opened the text from Greg. His cheeks bunched in a smile as he read the message.

_Alright, sleepyhead? I’ll bring dinner home. If you’re out, I’ll leave yours on a plate in the nuke. Love you, Kid_

\------------------------------------------------------------

Greg threw his phone across the lounge and slumped down onto the sofa with an angry growl. He didn’t understand what went through Sally’s head at times, and that she would willingly let a murderer walk was beyond his comprehension. But he’d given her the case, he’d insisted she take control - what could he do but let her make her mistakes? He’d intervene, sooner or later, but right now it was gone nine pm and all he needed or wanted to do was calm down. He leaned forward to the drinks table and picked up his packet of cigarettes and lighter. He paused, about to sit back again, and reached down to the TV Guide magazine on the table top with a yellow Post-It note fixed to the front of it, curling up at the edges. In Sherlock’s spindly handwriting read:

_Donovan cam @ 3pm - told her to go fuck herself. I’ll be at Barts, don’t wait up. x_

\------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock stepped out of the lab and found himself on the balcony, desperate for a cigarette and equally hungry - he could stave off the food but the cigarettes would not be abandoned. He drew the packet from his pocket along with his lighter and sated his need. Inhaling deeply, he felt immediately soothed. As he went to close the box, he frowned at a white piece of paper crumpled in behind his remaining five cigarettes. Clamping his smoke between his lips, he held the box with one hand and completed surgery with the fingers of his others to withdraw the paper. He pushed his fags into his pocket and folded out the page. He scoffed, drawing his cigarette from his lips, as he read the page.

 _You’re at that damnable hospital more than you’re home recently. Though I know I’m one to talk. One thing I can guarantee is that you’ll be smoking and so I know you’ll look at this sooner than you’ll look at your phone. Call me when you’re free, yeah? I miss your voice. At least I still have your smell when I climb into bed at whatever stupid hour I find time to do it - it’s killing me that you’re never next to me. I love you, Kid_.

\------------------------------------------------------------

Greg stepped into work with a startle to the chiming of his phone, ringing in a succession of texts and emails as it connected to the office’s wifi signal. He hadn’t paid his phone bill - the sooner he did, the sooner his correspondence would arrive when it should, he knew, but he was too busy. He drew his phone from his blazer pocket and bypassed everything when he saw Sherlock’s name on the texts list. He opened the message quickly, hungry for anything that brought him close to the man he’d barely seen in over a week, and scrolled through the message with a soft smile plastered across his tired face as he walked.

_Woke up to an empty bed, an hour with you in the early hours of the morning was not enough._

He text him back, not sure if he’d get a reply straight away of it Sherlock, too, had already begun another busy day with the succession of cold cases Mycroft had been firing at him. But when his _I miss you too, Kid_ was quickly responded to, Greg felt warmth spread throughout his body, lightening his mood, tightening his trousers, and speeding up his heartbeat. 

_My body misses you, too._

\------------------------------------------------------------

Greg tossed his coat over the breakfast bar and stopped dead as he spotted the fridge, unable to contain his laughter that suddenly and deeply filled the kitchen. Heavy and loud belly laughs erupted from his throat as he took in the order of the multi-coloured fridge magnet letters. Arranged by Sherlock, he knew, the refrigerator read:

_HoMe at 4 I hopE. MAKe thAt chE3se PAsTA th1nG. ThEN w3 d0 th3 S3x._


End file.
